Hardly anyone spoke a word as they rowed out through the gap, round the point, and bore up towards the brig. They were willing to wait to find some solution of the seeming mystery of her arrival, rather than to hazard guesses concerning it.
Yes, she had grounded, but not broadside on to the beach, as they all thought she would. The send of the tide had caught her stern and brought her round, and she lay on the soft sandy bottom—bows on to the shore.
Evidently she was half full of water, else she would have drifted farther in.
It was by no means difficult to scramble on board, therefore, despite the fact that her iron works were a mass of rust, and her bulwarks green and slimy. So too were the decks. She lay with a slight list to port, and our heroes, who had boarded at that side, found it somewhat difficult to reach the companion, so slippery were her decks.
Before going below they stood for a few minutes to gaze about them.
Dilapidation everywhere! She looked as a ship that has been long sunk beneath the salt seas would appear, if suddenly raised again.
Frank and Fred exchanged glances.
"How do you feel, Fred?"
"I feel," was the reply, "like one who stands on the confines of another world. Oh, mercy on us, Frank! where has this ship been during these long six months and over, and where is her unhappy crew?"
"They must have left her, Fred. See, there isn't a single boat visible, and the iron davits are slued round towards the sea."